How did we get here? If you’re a progressive, you start by expressing solidarity with a supposed underdog. [sic]
Google is making changes. Google is upgrading and expects me to understand these things, while my worries flue out of my chest like razor thin party streamers, fully cognizant I'll be gone soon, that Google is transitioning slowly into a value brand, paranoia like a vise on my stressed vascular system, Google wins, and my disenfranchisement is like Connelly's self-serving demise at the hands of demonic demands for nurture in American remakes. I grant that I intermingle personal voice, personal rage, yes, with an agenda many viewers may find inscrutable, uncomfortable, but the fact that I'm near the end of my viability should merit charitable latitude, even if my life long anger at being tortured for the sake of everyone else has merged into Trump's bully pulpit.
Why not telephone Google and sort it out in flushed retention? I have tried once or twice, and need to make an effort with the time differential, and already know, since all platforms are the same when it comes to incendiary fire, I am not going to be allowed more creative freedom elsewhere to stay public with an adult content banner. The Russians and the Chinese probably already point out that the west practices corporate censorship in just such a fashion, through restrictive guidelines, if that is indeed what the search giant is up to. I'm not certain, but wanted to qualify, I still like ambulatory men, of certain classes and types, and wish I had ambulatory men, of certain classes and types, who could see me as more than a vaginal conquest of exemplary penetration. To the extent that female paraplegics can still be fully desirable, I am not one of them, born like an imp, dying like a hag, but the dogs see me as a lay, and it has never been otherwise, at least not with any man I wanted, including the three blacks I might have tried, ancient history, though two were paraplegics. Maybe that I tweet my links is causing the trouble, but I am not engaging in hardcore pornography, and some of you must realize this, that it is a thematic mission statement, yet what can I do? Alphabet may signify Google has future growth issues, but I'm a poisoned cockroach, legs in a death run upturned in the air.
Showing posts with label dark water. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dark water. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Positive Endorsement
My most energetic hours are now, assuming I've eaten. I'm easiest between 2 and 5 am, with the knowledge that things are relatively tranquil, but something always acts up. My digestive tract, or the felines rousing themselves in an outburst of havoc. I am still succinctly dubious of twitter. I understand it much better as spam, but it really isn't my interactive tool of choice, though I am on it and not Facebook, and I'll add, to my detriment, that I'm waiting to be banned, baffled that I haven't been, but a little too clueless to get myself banned, since in all my online history, I haven't done the newsworthy twitter banning items, and a person cannot argue on it. Snipe, yes. Snipe which is callow and bad for the mind, but convos are a tad swift for me.
Ev's Medium I've just tried, rushing my copy without links or gifs or things, but I am forgiven because the psychology of meeting a deadline sparks my battery, and if I fix it and keep running items of interest which I do not hold for sale maybe they will commission me on the slog. I like it better than Examiner.com, an outlet I grew to hate, because I don't like tabloid journalism, not for the return on the work submitted--I mean, writing for nothing, at my age, is less than writing for cent per page view, but Clarity was no good for me. Medium is better, with one caveat: I'm lost on graphics. My brother has that literacy. I do content. I do cerebral. I do thinking. I do getting constantly chastised for expressing ferocity. I cannot do graphics, video, and I'm no photographer. I lack the dexterity. Respond with limited aesthetic appreciation, yes, but produce it, no. Similar to annexing children. I never planned for pregnancy, which is why during my fertile years I panicked against the unsheathed penis (no longer relevant), but I dislike children, which may lend itself to why old schematic films like The Village of the Damned (1960) resonate. The stark definition of the enemy, in black and white, is consoling-- and yet the motif, evil within the innocence, cuts across cultures-- though Asians utilize it with more ambiguity due to the ambivalence of their deities, as in Dark Water, which I brought up earlier. The year of the post momentarily escapes me, but birth is a dangerous process, as was observed in the arc of The Kite Runner. We fear what is within the womb, though we may miss its comfort, forget in the ebb and flow of brutal life, which urbanism, somehow, makes more stark than the battering of living an agrarian life. Philadelphia may be a patchwork of sad residential row homes with more vibrant commerce vectors in the center and the Northeast, but Tokyo, in many ways, signifies a future devoid of the price we pay for being outsiders . It leads to even further examination of Inarritu's Japanese tween in Babel.
Ev's Medium I've just tried, rushing my copy without links or gifs or things, but I am forgiven because the psychology of meeting a deadline sparks my battery, and if I fix it and keep running items of interest which I do not hold for sale maybe they will commission me on the slog. I like it better than Examiner.com, an outlet I grew to hate, because I don't like tabloid journalism, not for the return on the work submitted--I mean, writing for nothing, at my age, is less than writing for cent per page view, but Clarity was no good for me. Medium is better, with one caveat: I'm lost on graphics. My brother has that literacy. I do content. I do cerebral. I do thinking. I do getting constantly chastised for expressing ferocity. I cannot do graphics, video, and I'm no photographer. I lack the dexterity. Respond with limited aesthetic appreciation, yes, but produce it, no. Similar to annexing children. I never planned for pregnancy, which is why during my fertile years I panicked against the unsheathed penis (no longer relevant), but I dislike children, which may lend itself to why old schematic films like The Village of the Damned (1960) resonate. The stark definition of the enemy, in black and white, is consoling-- and yet the motif, evil within the innocence, cuts across cultures-- though Asians utilize it with more ambiguity due to the ambivalence of their deities, as in Dark Water, which I brought up earlier. The year of the post momentarily escapes me, but birth is a dangerous process, as was observed in the arc of The Kite Runner. We fear what is within the womb, though we may miss its comfort, forget in the ebb and flow of brutal life, which urbanism, somehow, makes more stark than the battering of living an agrarian life. Philadelphia may be a patchwork of sad residential row homes with more vibrant commerce vectors in the center and the Northeast, but Tokyo, in many ways, signifies a future devoid of the price we pay for being outsiders . It leads to even further examination of Inarritu's Japanese tween in Babel.
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